Like Wildfire
by Emmeebee
Summary: When she was little, her parents used to tell her that curiosity killed the cat and that, if she was not careful, it just might get her, too. But she had only ever laughed.


A/N: Written by Chaser 1 of Montrose Magpies for the Daily Prophet's Issue 7 competition.

Prompt: Hermione — _Alohomora_ (write a character fic about the use of the spell)

Optional prompts: (word) contrary; (image) s-media-cache-ak0 dot pinimg dot com /originals /7a/22/a7/7a22a722efc3af1004eea6e15f7640ec dot jpg; (object) pillow

Thank you to my teammates for betaing this for me.

Word count: 1184

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Hermione Granger did not like being told no. When she was little, her parents used to tell her that curiosity killed the cat and that, if she was not careful, it just might get her, too. But she had only ever laughed. After all, everybody knew that cats had nine lives. Even if curiosity managed to take one of them, they still had enough to come back stronger and with more determination — and, perhaps more importantly, with answers. Instead of dissuading her, the comment only made her more resolute in her quest for knowledge.

She was contrary like that.

So it was no surprise that when she came across an old chest one afternoon on her way back from Muggle Studies, her feet started moving towards it before her conscious mind could catch up. Tucked away in a forgotten corner of an out-of-the-way classroom that she never would have passed in the first place had she not been lost and coated in a thick layer of rust, it looked like something out of a pirate story.

Pirates had never appealed to her; they were too unruly. Mysteries, however, with their open ends and convoluted lines, _did_.

Lowering herself to her knees, Hermione reached out a hand and ran a finger along the cool metal of the lid. She knew that there were a million reasons why she should leave and forget she had ever seen it. It had to belong to someone, and given the extent to which they had gone to hide it, they probably didn't want a random fourteen-year-old snooping around. It could be dangerous, cursed to hurt anyone who tried to open it. It was, quite clearly, Not Good. Had Harry been the one in the classroom, she would have told him to leave immediately and to report it to a professor.

But he wasn't there; _she_ was. Tired from her ever-increasing workload and frustrated at having wasted precious study time by getting lost, she couldn't bring herself to care about politeness or propriety or even her own safety. Harry and Ron didn't, if their reaction to the broom was any indication. Why should she?

She had no defences against the curiosity that burned within her like wildfire, raging against its leash like a rabid dog.

She couldn't hold on.

She let go.

Placing her hands securely under the lid, she yanked upward.

It did not budge.

To be honest, Hermione hadn't expected it to. What kind of person went to the bother of buying and hiding a chest, only to leave it unattended and unlocked? Still, it had been worth a try.

She ran her hand around the outside of the chest until it came across what felt like a latch. Pulling out her wand, she pointed it straight at the lock and whispered a single word: " _Alohomora."_

It unlocked with a quiet _click_. Leaning forward on her ankles, she reached out for the chest with a gentleness that bordered on reverence and slowly opened the lid. It was heavy but manageable. When it was fully open, she paused for a few seconds, making sure that it wouldn't fall closed again. It wouldn't do to risk drawing attention to herself.

Then, taking her time so as to savour the moment, she looked inside.

-x-

The next thing Hermione knew was the feeling of a soft pillow beneath her head. It was as light and fluffy as a cloud, and she felt like she was floating. As she opened her eyes, she almost expected to be greeted by chirping birds and endless blue skies. Instead, she saw only white. Glancing down, a room came into focus, revealing a row of immaculately made beds.

The hospital wing. She was in the hospital wing.

Someone must have found her.

Something must have happened.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know who and what.

Turning her head, she caught sight of Professor Dumbledore sitting beside her. His gaze rested on his hands, which were folded in his lap, and his face was as grim as she had ever seen it.

"Professor?" Hermione asked, the word coming out as a squeak.

When he looked up, she almost wished he hadn't. His piercing blue eyes were filled with disappointment. It was the first time a professor had looked at her like that since the incident with the troll — but that wasn't a fair comparison, really, since in that case, she hadn't actually done what she'd said she'd done. This was an entirely new experience for her, and she hated it.

"Would you like to tell me what happened this afternoon?" he asked. His tone was so mild that he could have been asking about the weather.

She wondered if an ability to get people to underestimate him was another part of his arsenal, alongside his brilliant mind and quick wand. She supposed it didn't matter either way; it still left her in the same position. Taking a deep breath and willing her voice to remain steady, she told him everything, starting from the moment the moving staircase stopped at a corridor she had never been through before and ending at the moment her eyes settled on the inside of the chest and saw nothing but four metal walls surrounding empty space.

"I'm sorry," she said, knowing that she had to say it before the questions came. She wouldn't have the nerve to otherwise.

The Headmaster nodded. Whether he was acknowledging the story or her apology, she wasn't sure.

The silence was worse than an interrogation. "Who found me?"

"The owner of the chest. It alerted her to your presence, and she came at once to see you. Once she had made sure that you had not taken anything, she brought you here." He paused and let out a deep sigh. "I trust that you understand now, Miss Granger, how foolhardy it was to open it. The defences she put on it were more ingenious than you imagined. They were designed not to stop would-be thieves from opening the chest, but to keep any trespassers there until the owner could get there to defend it herself."

"But why?" she asked. "Why would she have it there in the first place? And who is she?"

His eyes glinted for a moment, but its meaning was as enigmatic to her as ever. "I am afraid that information is confidential. Rest assured that her Head of House has been aware of the chest for some time, and, now, I am as well. We have no concerns with it, and neither should you."

His answer was, frankly, even more frustrating than the mystery of the quest had been to begin with. "Am I going to be punished?" she asked, not wanting to bring it up but desperately needing to know.

"No," he said. "If I took points from every student who made a foolish error, there would be none left."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Besides," he continued, "I rather think that the question of who it was who bested you will be punishment enough."

She supposed she deserved that.

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A/N: I didn't want Hermione to find out who the owner of the chest was, but she's a random seventh year Slytherin who has some belongings that she doesn't want her housemates to find and a flair for the dramatic.


End file.
